The ring had shone like an emerald star. Fallen from the heavens and placed before him by some twist of fate. Its light was dimmed only by the twisting shadows crossing it, white and black clouds of smoke and sun. It sang a song so sweet. Coaxing something deep inside Lapat’s mind. Teasing at the door, holding back his power. But everything had changed. Before he could understand the vivid vision that had forced him from his body and into some horrid battle scene, he was brought back to reality.

  A reality nearly as horrible as the dream had been.

  The streets of Meerside were chaos as they ran. All who could, fled from the coast, deeper into the city. In waves, the thunder rumbled, lightning flashing in the distance. Always followed by an awful screech that pierced the air. It was a drum in his chest. A pounding matched only by his own heart that raced to keep him alive but a second longer.

  But then came the fire.

  There was a rhythm to it. After the screech and screams came impacts and explosions. Stone and wood were torn from buildings and buried those caught below. Lapat retched as a metallic shell bounced down the cobbled road and turned an unlucky guard into a bloody mist.

  He tried to calm himself, counting the heartbeats between the thunder and the explosions. Seventy seconds to run as far as you could, as fast as you could.

  Seventy seconds before you might be next.

  Seventy seconds before you ducked and prayed to be luckier than someone else.

  But who do I pray to? Which God will save me now? The panic and fear, did the prayers reach anyone, or were they hopeless echoes in an empty hall? Lapat wiped ash from his face. Gods or no, I must not die today.

  Some of the crowd stopped to aid others. A hand reached down, pulling someone close, thankful they were still alive. But many weren’t as patient. Children were ripped from their parents as the stampede continued over those who had fallen. Screaming orphans were left crying in the street.

  Lapat watched them all, his heart turning to stone. I must survive for Rosie. Nothing else matters. No one else matters. He cursed himself for carrying the boy. It slowed him down.

  The priestess, Verna, stayed a few steps ahead of him, bounding over bricks torn from buildings and dodging craters ruptured from the ground. She looked back at him and the boy constantly. Beirt ran ahead of them, knocking aside anyone who got in his path, clearing a way for the rest of them. Eayrne followed in step, looking back to Verna anxiously but only at Lapat in disdain. “Hurry, you old fool!”

  Lapat knew Eayrne wanted to leave him behind, but the Sister wouldn’t let him. Every time the twins got too far ahead, she cried back for Lapat, forcing the twins to stop.

  She looked at him, saw the sweat running rivers down his face, and rushed to his side, “I can help carry him.”

  “No, child.” Lapat grunted as he stepped over a limp body, “Go! I’ll be right behind you.”

  Thunder rumbled.

  Lapat grabbed onto the girl and jumped from the center of the street, slamming into a wooden building. Verna tucked herself against his chest, both of them panting and shaking as more explosions rocked the city. A rain of dirt scattered across his back, peppering his shell.

  “Are we close?” Verna yelled to the twins, who had ducked into an alley ahead of them.

  Beirt shoved people aside while Eayrne called back. “Almost! A few more blocks!”

  “A few more blocks might kill us,” Lapat cursed. The Hellkin boy was still a dead weight in his arms and growing heavier. Lapat considered the irony of having carried him all this way if he was to die before they ever escaped.

  “We can make it,” Verna said assuredly. She helped Lapat to his feet, and together they ran forward through the city.

  Twice, seventy seconds passed.

  Twice, lightning flashed in the distance.

  Twice, horrible thunder echoed across the sky.

  Twice, people died in explosions, torn apart by debris, or buried under collapsed buildings.

  Twice, Lapat pleaded to live another day, to see Rosie again.

  Finally, the jesters slowed on a squat stone bridge over a stream flowing downriver to the Corazon. They were in a part of town Lapat had never seen, surrounded by short and disfigured buildings. Without a pause, Eayrne and Beirt leapt over the side and splashed into the shallow water.

  Verna leaned over the edge and looked at Lapat. “Come, I’ll help you with him.” Together, they rolled the boy onto the ledge.

  “Hurry, damn it!” Eayrne cussed.

  Lapat’s joints screamed, his muscles burning, but he carefully lowered the boy down with Verna’s help. He followed after, the stream warm against his skin, reaching up to his knees.

  “Beirt, the oars. You,” Eayrne pointed to Lapat, “Put the boy in the boat. We need your help pushing it off.”

  Lapat watched as Eayrne tore away a tarp covered in trash; Lapat had assumed it was garbage; it had been so perfectly camouflaged. Beneath it was a small rowboat. Lapat lowered the boy gently into the bow.

  “Quickly now!” Eayrne yelled.

  Verna crawled into the ship and settled beside the boy. Lapat saw a sick smile cross Eayrne’s face before he turned back to Lapat. “You need to shove us off.” He leapt into the boat along with Beirt and waved Lapat onward. “Hurry now!”

  Lapat forced himself forward, the boat skimming across the water with ease. Beirt began to row as the water grew deeper.

  “Wait,” Lapat panted, the stream pressing against his hips, slowing every step. “Wait…I can’t-”

  The water grew deeper now, rising to his chest, slowing him down even further. The boat was pulled from his grip as he chased after it. “Help, please!” Lapat yelled as the warm water lapped at his chin. Earyne’s pale eyes glimmered cruelly.

  No, Lapat thought. I almost made it. Almost. The water was up to his lips now. He tried to swim and kick his feet, but he was so tired. He just wanted to close his eyes, just for a moment. The exhaustion was comforting. It wrapped him up and told him it was okay to stop, to slow down, to rest.

  Panic flashed across Verna’s face. “Lapat!”

  He heard her scream, waking something inside him. I am not done! This is not who I am! This is not how my story ends!

  He roared, the pain flashing through his body. He choked on the water that filled his lungs, but he did not care. With a massive thrust, his fingers wrapped around the edge of the boat.

  Verna rushed to help him up, and with a grunt, Lapat fell into the boat panting. He stared daggers at Eayrne. “You left me behind!”

  Eayrne shrugged dispassionately. “You found your way.”

  A fire burned in Lapat. He wanted to lash out, wipe the smug look off his face. But Verna put a hand on his shoulder. We aren't out of this yet,” she warned.

  He growled, but she was right. Their boat followed the narrow stream underneath the city for several minutes, thunder still rumbling in the distance, but all the explosions flying high above them. They passed beneath bridges roaring with panicked footsteps. A painting of fire reflected in the water’s surface as they skimmed downstream.

  More than once, they were forced to move past the rubble and bodies that bumped against the ship. Lapat quickly lost what little food he had left, leaving an acidic burn in his throat. He wiped away the spittle sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  Verna stared blankly at him and the corpses floating past. “The Lady will guide us. She must.” Her words were emotionless, prescriptive. But he hoped she was right. If anyone might be able to secure a god’s favor, it wouldn't be him.

  A small galley rose into sight as they neared the Corazon.

  “You lot best get moving or I’ll take your heads and serve them with stew!” Eayrne shouted. A series of devious grins and red rope necklaces peered over the side of the ship.

  “Thought you were dead!” one of the crewmen shouted as he lowered the rope ladder.

  “Not yet!” Eayrne responded as they all laughed.

  What fresh hell have I stepped into? Lapat wondered.

  A dozen men ran about the The Honest Knave, moving to set sail. It must have been by some miracle that they had been stationed further in the city and untouched by the carnage. The crew eyed Lapat and the girl suspiciously, anger in their eyes as they saw the Hellkin across Lapat’s shoulder.

  “I don’t believe we are entirely welcome here,” Lapat muttered, stepping beside Verna. “Stay close to me.”

  “Will they get us out of the city?” Verna asked. The crew moved with practiced speed as Eayrne shouted orders and obscenities.

  “I hope so.”

  A thin halfling, only a few feet tall with a crooked face, stood beside the mast and pulled a flute from his pocket. Lapat watched as the halfling took the flute to his lips, and the smell of ale and cigar smoke filled the air. In a moment, the wind bent and pulled against the sail, propelling them forward.

  Once the lifeblood of trade to the rest of the continent, the Corazon River was now clogged and burning. Private yachts with high decks and carved edifices smashed into fishermen's dinghies as they all retreated east away from the sea. The invading King Ship remained far from shore, bombarding the city with flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder. Navy vessels, once the pride of Meerside, were left in ruins, still tied to shattered docks, floating uselessly before they were consumed by the dark waters.

  The few ships that had been upstream and out of range, now rowed downriver towards the invading force. But it was in vain. Lapat watched as they were too slow to move and quickly surrounded by the smaller invading caravels. Arrows dotted the sides of the attackers’ hulls, occasionally piercing through one of their soldiers. But blood was in the water, and the invaders struck without mercy.

  Lapat ducked as thunder erupted from one of the assault vessels. He dared to peek, his curiosity burning even as Meerside’s people were torn apart. Tucked behind gaps along the ship were thick metallic cylinders. After expelling with smoke, some sort of shell, like those that bombarded the city, they retreated within the ship only to return and shoot off fire once more. Lapat watched with a twisted awe; these contraptions were so foreign, so terrible. Sailors plunged into the sea to escape burning and sinking hulls.

  “Hold!”

  Lapat spun as the bow of another ship slammed into the stern of The Knave. Wood splintered and metal screeched while the deck beneath Lapat’s feet rocked and trembled.

  “Boarders!”

  Whistling filled the air, and Lapat threw himself aside as a metallic hook embedded in the wood where he had stood just moments ago.

  “Arms! To arms!” More hooks rained down on the railing and deck of the ship, followed by lengths of rope that groaned taut. In moments, the enemy ship was even with The Knave. Lapat staggered back in shock.

  Bipedal creatures lined the deck. They had red pants and shirts with black trim down the sides, with a sun emblazoned on their chests like the sails flying above them. Some wore metal plating or greaves. They all had two arms, many of which held swords and spears. But encased in red hoods, the bottom halves of their faces were a mess of pipes and iron, revealing only the eyes of killers.

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  They gathered in defensive groups; bloodied swords already drawn. The Knave’s crew eyed them cautiously, an assortment of blades and cudgels in hand. Each side measured the other, violence thick in the air like a dead man’s breath.

  “Come on then!” Eayrne shouted, and the stalemate was broken. With a roar, the soldiers leapt from their ship to the Knave, their black boots pounding her deck like hail. The crew met them in match, blades clashing and blood falling.

  Lapat stumbled as a sword slashed out inches from his chest. He fell to the deck facedown and tried to rise, but a blow at his back forced him flat. A metallic ring sounded as a sword slashed down again at Lapat’s shell. He turned to see a soldier snarl at him. He felt his heart in his throat, his body trembling.

  The foreign soldier raised the sword high, but before the blade could fall, the man’s skull imploded.

  “Up! Turtle man! Up!” Beirt laughed, his cudgel dripping with brain matter and bone. “Fight! Right! Until you see the light!”

  Lapat took the sword from the dead soldier’s hand, biting back a retch in his stomach as the handle was sticky and warm in his grip. Around him, the crew had drawn a line against the invaders, trying to force them off the ship. But every time one fell, it seemed as though two more leapt aboard.

  “Help me!”

  Lapat looked down the bow to see Verna covering the Hellkin’s body with her own as two soldiers closed in on her.

  Lapat sprinted, swinging wide around the fighting just in case a loose blade ended his valiant crusade.

  Verna screamed again as the soldiers advanced, reaching out for her.

  “No!” Lapat barreled into one, slamming him against the railing and tumbling overboard. The soldier screamed as he plummeted into the water below. Without thinking, Lapat lashed out wildly at the other, forcing it back, away from Verna.

  The soldier fell into a defensive stance, blade blocking its body, eyes flaring in anger. Lapat trembled, his body aching as he took what he could only imagine was a dueling position. “I don’t want any trouble! We have no part in this- “

  The soldier leapt forward. Verna screamed as Lapat shut his eyes and swung wildly. The soldier stumbled back, the piping across its face cracked and spewing smoke. It grabbed at the mask desperately, but the piping split and fell from its face.

  From her face. Her freckled face. The freckled face of a human woman. She gasped and choked, throwing down her blade to grab at her throat.

  “I…I didn’t!” Lapat tried to speak, tried to apologize, tried to do something. But it didn’t matter. Another blade cut through the air, piercing her neck and dropping her to the ground.

  Eayrne stood behind her, rapier dripping red. “You two,” he barked. “Cut the lines on the hooks! We’re dead if we stay here!”

  I killed her. I killed someone.

  Her freckles were burned in his eyes. He wanted to close them, to shove the memory away and burn it, but there was no time.

  “Come on, Lapat!” Verna tugged the dead woman’s body across the Hellkin’s, shoving them both into a corner. “We need to get out of here!” She snatched the freckled woman’s sword and dragged Lapat forward.

  Together, they made their way to the port side, where the crew continued to drive back the soldiers. Screams filled the air, but Lapat forced himself to tune it out. Escape. Cut the ropes. Escape. His chest boomed with every roll of thunder, his mind a rush of adrenaline.

  “The ropes!” Verna yelled to the crew. They seized forward, giving Lapat and Verna the space to cut the lines.

  Cutting free the ship one rope at a time, they neared the stern. A blossom of hope filled his chest. Maybe we will make it out. Maybe we will escape and survive. Lapat raised his stolen sword high, feeling like a hero, and swung down with all his strength. But no snap of rope sounded out. Instead, there was only a flash of pain and a crunch of his jaw as he collapsed to the deck.

  “Lapat!” Verna screamed and rushed beside him, holding her sword out at the assailant.

  A soldier was perched on the Knave’s railing. She had the same metallic piping mask but with gold buttons lining her crisp red cloak. Her long blonde hair was tied back into a bun and pierced with metal pins that looked nearly as sharp as the sword that spun loosely in her hand. Her blue eyes burned with the cold indifference of the depths of the sea.

  “Surrender and you may live. Resist and you will perish.” Her voice echoed off the metal mask.

  Verna’s blade trembled in her hands, and Lapat looked desperately for help, but there was none. The crew was slowly being pushed back again by the soldiers. One of which leapt from behind the woman and onto the deck of the Knave.

  “Captain?” He shouted. “Shall I disperse the heretics?”

  Heretics? Lapat rubbed his jaw, the ache already a pounding throb.

  “No, Private,” the woman, the captain, sighed and knocked Verna’s blade from her hands in a quick twist. “Seize the girl. She may be familiar with the terrain. Secure the ship. Kill everyone else.”

  The soldier tried to grasp her, but Verna fell back, tripping and falling to the deck. Lapat reached out to protect her, but a horrible screech filled the air, forcing his gaze back. The captain was trembling, a hand on her face, emitting a noise like rusted metal ground together. Before her on the deck was the ring, pulsing a dim green glow.

  The captain mumbled something. A word that she repeated again and again, growing louder until the private’s eyes went wide. “The key.”

  “The key! The key! The key,” They shouted again and again, soldiers around them took up the chant. The Knave’s crew hesitated in confusion as the chanting grew louder and louder. “The key! The key! The key!”

  Still perched like a bird of prey, the captain pointed to it, hands trembling. “To me. Bring it to me!” The private moved to snatch it from the ground, but Verna threw herself forward.

  “Damn, girl!” The private grabbed Verna by the hair, wrenching a scream from her. Lapat tried to dive forward, but suddenly the ground lifted out from beneath him, with a horrible crash. The captain screamed as she was thrown from the railing and into the waters below.

  “Captain!”

  With the soldier distracted, Lapat moved to grab Verna and the ring. He brushed it for but a moment, the band buzzing with dim green energy. It did not burn as his magic always had. Instead, it was lightning at his fingertips. Power unlike any other, roaring through him like a river; insatiable, unstoppable, unending. It was as if he had thrown open the golden door and washed himself in its light, but there was no pain. The power was all present. All-encompassing. But it vanished.

  Verna ripped the ring back, throwing it into her pocket. Lapat’s heart pounded, his mouth hot, his head alight. Incredible. Everything had been so small, so clear.

  “Lapat!” Verna’s voice was faint. “Lapat!” She screamed and shook him. “Lapat, we need to get up! Look!”

  He turned slowly, the world coming back into focus. The Knave was moving away from the invader’s boat. The few soldiers left on the deck were retreating or being cut down by the crew.

  Verna pointed and yelled in delight, “There it is! The Council’s Blade! She has come to repel them! Alez Debrev will save us!”

  Lapat saw that the massive warship had slammed into and had begun boarding the invader’s vessel, freeing The Knave.

  As the last soldier fell, Eayrne shouted, “Gale!” The thin halfling ran to Eayrne’s side, panting, his hair matted with blood. “Get us the hells out of here! Now!” Gale rushed to the mast, pulling the flute from his pocket.

  Verna turned in confusion. “We are going to flee?”

  Eayrne laughed, pointing at the ships now engaged in battle. “You are free to stay and join them. But first, I will peel the ring from your hands and leave you for the victors to bury.” Verna covered her pocket, stepping back.

  “That’s what I thought.” Eayrne slunk away while Verna and Lapat looked to the battle.

  Meerside sailors had boarded the invaders’ ship and engaged in a brutal fight. Debrev herself waved into the bloodshed, a long, curved blade flashing and cutting like the wind as enemies fell before her. Thunder continued to roar in the distance and fire exploded across the city, but all eyes were on this fight. Debrev’s forces had taken half the bow before the hope in Lapat’s heart died. From the depths of hell, the captain emerged, dark water dripping as she climbed the side of the ship.

  “No,” Lapat whispered.

  The red soldiers cheered when they saw their leader emerge and bark commands. He watched them form a line, bunched at the center of the ship, swords out like a porcupine, while others emerged from below the deck. The new soldiers carried long pikes encased in metal and wood. The captain shouted more orders, and within moments, the pikes were knocked back to their shoulders like a bow and pointed at Debrev’s men.

  Lapat furrowed his brow. “What are they-?”

  With the swing of the captain’s blade, the pikes erupted with fire and smoke. Struck by some invisible force, Meerside’s finest cried in pain; uniforms peppered with holes. Even as The Knave pulled further from the battle, Lapat could see the shock on Debrev’s face, a gasp that turned to rage.

  She cast down her blade and grasped a flask at her waist. The smell of her casting filled the air, birch wood from an ancient forest. The water that spilled from her flask rippled and lifted, forming long blades. The invaders screamed in horror, scrambling back as the water twisted faster and faster. Debrev shouted and shoved the water forward, blasting into the red soldiers, pummeling them.

  Again, cheers erupted around the Corazon. The tide could be turned! Verna held onto Lapat; her smile wide. This nightmare could end!

  Lapat smiled back, but it rotted on his lips as the captain emerged unscathed. The red soldiers pulled back their thundering pikes, pouring something into their points. The remaining Meerside soldiers rushed forward at the pikemen, blades out.

  Through the chaos, Debrev and the captain matched each other. The captain held her sword loose at her side as Debrev forced more water into the air. The spring was coiled, the band ready to snap as they eyed the other through the battle. Debrev moved first, throwing a watery death of magic at the captain…but she wasn’t there.

  Lapat watched with terror as the captain simply danced out of the way. Her speed did not change, nor did her demeanor; she simply seemed to flow around the magic meant to destroy her. A crack of lightning and more of the pikes exploded, tearing apart Meerside sailors like blades through butter. Lapat saw Debrev’s shoulders falling, her dark scales rotting white.

  “She’s using too much,” Lapat whispered.

  The captain was halfway across the deck now. Her strides were as constant as the waves lapping against the ships around them. She did not waver.

  But Debrev continued to fight, even as the sailors around her fell. Her screams rang louder, water trembling as it failed to rise to her command.

  The captain continued to advance, weaving past what little was thrown at her.

  “Come on!” Lapat urged. “Push! You can take it!”

  But she couldn’t. Debrev’s cries grew weaker and softer until she fell to her knees. Her scales, once dark and full of life, were now white and cracked, splintered, revealing lifeless, rotten flesh beneath.

  Lapat cringed at the sight, gripping his covered wrists, but he dared not look away.

  Debrev struggled to lift her head, pride burning in her eyes as she stared down the captain. Even as the blade pierced her throat.

  “No,” Verna gasped.

  The captain raised Debrev’s decapitated head for all to see. Her voice echoed across the river. “You have fallen.” She turned, looking all around at the destroyed ships polluting the river, to the distraught people she had defeated. “Submit. Or die.”

  The surviving Meerside soldiers, the pride of the city, fell to their knees. Civilian ships either chose to anchor or were hunted and burned as they tried to flee upstream after the Knave.

  The captain’s blue gaze fell on Lapat like rot on flesh. She said something, and the men around her rushed to their positions. Quickly, terrifyingly quickly, the red vessel turned and charged after them.

  “They are coming!” Verna screamed.

  Lapat looked to the bow. The Corazon was tightening ahead of them, soon only wide enough for a ship or two, but the bottleneck was still fifty feet away.

  Eayrne slapped Gale to the ground. “Faster you, idiot!” Gale was thick with sweat, legs shaking, forcing the wind to obey him. But it was not enough. The captain’s ship was advancing rapidly. “Get up, damn you!” Eayrne slapped the man again, drawing red blotches across his face. “Lighten the load!” he shouted to the crew. “Dump anything we don’t need!”

  The crew flew to a flurry of throwing barrels and ropes over the railing, letting supplies float and sink into the Corazon’s depths. But the red ship was gaining on them.

  One hundred feet, eighty feet, sixty feet.

  Their soldiers gathered at the bow. Lapat saw their hooks in hand, ready to pierce the Knave’s flesh and drag her back to them.

  Gale rose and tried to summon more power, but it was hopeless. The man was terror-stricken and exhausted. “I…I can’t.” The once constant wind was now little more than a breeze flapping against the sail.

  “We aren’t going to make it,” Lapat murmured. Soldiers drew back more of the thunderpikes he had seen tearing apart Debrev’s men. Their long points swayed and took sight on him and the rest of the crew.

  “Faster, dammit!” Eayrne screamed.

  “They are catching up too quickly,” Lapat whispered.

  The bottleneck was thirty feet away still. There was nothing left to toss overboard. The ship would be on them in seconds.

  “I have to do something.”

  Verna looked at him, desperate terror filling her eyes. But a smooth calm settled his nerves. A familiar warmth. “Verna,” Lapat said softly, pulling away from her. “You need to get to the front of the ship.”

  “Lapat?” She looked up at him, confused.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  She nodded, not understanding, but still did as he wished. Once she was gone from his side, a chill tingled down his spine, building in his belly. He strode up the stairs at the stern of the ship.

  The foreign vessel was within arrowshot now. Seconds away from being close enough to hook onto. Lapat put his hand beside a torch sconce, its fire dim. He closed his eyes and let his mind find the door he needed.

  The glowing golden light.

  He heard the shouting of the red soldiers closing in.

  In his mind, he reached for the door, finding familiar comfort in the handle, shaped to him perfectly after years spent holding it. The air smelled of pine, his magic shimmering around him.

  He heard the grunt of hooks thrown and whistling towards him.

  The handle turned, and the light washed over him. Power thudded his bones, rattling his skull. Just a little more.

  He felt lighter, faster, younger. He pushed harder, inching it forward, letting more power wash through him. I need more.

  The buzz was intoxicating, alluring, addicting. Everything was clear and simple. His skin burned like the sun itself was in the palm of his hands. The door stopped, just far enough, he knew, but never truly satisfying the itch.

  Lapat opened his eyes, and the hells flew from his palms. Bright yellow flames curled in the air while scarlet red hissed upon the top of the water. The Corazon burned like sin, spreading across the width, licking at its banks.

  The foreign soldiers screamed, the bow of the boat scorching and falling to ashes in moments. Lapat did not care. He saw one man leap from the deck into the water below, his face a ruin of flame.

  There is no empathy, only strength, only power, only more.

  The drive was incessant. It had been so long since he’d scratched the itch, since he’d had more than just a taste. Now he never wanted to stop. He devoured the power; desperate gulps of a man lost in the desert, but twice as sweet. The golden light licked at his skin, every taste a warm embrace of intoxicating energy.

  “Lapat!” A voice screamed.

  But it doesn’t matter. The boat was forced to retreat from him.

  From ME.

  The flames flew from his hands, and he was a firestorm.

  I am what they fear, what they run from.

  “Lapat, enough!” The voice was louder now. It reminded him of something, of someone. But he wasn’t sure who.

  “Lapat, please.” He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “Rosie?” He turned, the door closing, the fire fading.

  “Lapat,” the priestess said softly. “You can stop. It’s okay.” She looked up at him with gentle eyes.

  The buzz slowed, a dull thud in the back of his mind. His bones ached; heavy and old.

  “It’s okay.”

  He was so tired. The sconce beside him was destroyed, melted beyond recognition, the stern of the Knave baked black. His arms were a mess of black veins, inching towards his heart. Blood dripped from his nose, the iron tang sharp on his tongue.

  She let him fall against her. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You are okay.”

  But he wasn’t.